


An Exploded Pen

by MidKnight2501



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidKnight2501/pseuds/MidKnight2501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Jack see’s Ianto shirtless, in real life, not over the grainy black and white of the CCTV (not that he’s supposed to use it for that) is when a pen explodes in Ianto’s shirt pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exploded Pen

The first time Jack see’s Ianto shirtless, in real life, not over the grainy black and white of the CCTV (not that he’s supposed to use it for that) is when a pen explodes in Ianto’s shirt pocket. The boy reaches for it, before he realizes what happened, and then his fingers are wet with ink.

Jack tries to pretend it’s not as cute as it is, because Ianto buys really, really nice suits and he’s not about to touch his suit coat with ink stained fingers, but he’s got to get the coat off before he can get the shirt off, and if he doesn’t get the coat off the coat’s going to get ink on it. He watches him chase his thoughts like a tail for a minute, then steps up to the job.

“Come on.” He says, and Ianto actually listens to him. The first sign of doubt is when Jack shuts his office door and closes the blinds. He gets a raised brow, but Ianto stands there stoically as Jack steps in.

He smiles, trying for something less than lecherous and pervy, and guesses he gets it right because Ianto doesn’t run off screaming to protect his virtue.

Jack takes his time slipping the two buttons on the front of the slate shaded coat, playing valet to silent Ianto, takes care with the sleeves so they don’t touch his inked fingers. At Ianto’s hard look he picks the coat up from where he flung it across the sofa and takes the time to fit its shoulders around the back of his chair. Next comes the black tie, which makes Jack bite his lip before he realizes Ianto can see him, and then he smiles coyly. It’s slick in his fingers, and he pulls it loose with a quiet whisper.

“Come on, Jack, before it stains.” Ianto goads him, and in return Jack lets his hands drop to the younger man’s hips. He pulls on the shirt, tugging it up and loose, letting his hands fall under the royal blue shirt a moment. He silently curses the undershirt, soft under his fingers but guesses it’s probably stained at well. Oh lucky day.

Giving up on the undershirt, and Ianto’s waist, he reaches for the top button, slips it through with a kind of pervy glee. Button two reveals the hollow of his throat, button three the edges of his collar bones and the top of his gray cotton undershirt. Button four and five let him slip his fingers inside the shirt, pads of his fingers against the inside of the shirt, backs pressed into the warm cotton against what feels like Ianto’s flat belly. He likes how flat it is, hopes and prays the undershirt is stained as well. It has to be.

Ianto lifts his hands and an eyebrow, so Jack can undo the cuffs, and he walks around Ianto so he can ease it down his arms. Over the breast is a dark stain, and Jack stares at it. He’s got no idea how you remove the pitch colored mark, but as Ianto turns to snatch it out of his hand he also fulfils Jack’s dream.

The undershirt’s got a stain on the breast. Jack’s face probably lights up like its Christmas, because for the first time Ianto frowns at him.

“What?”

Jack drops the shirt on the floor, uncaring, and reaches for Ianto’s pants.

“Sir-“

Jack shushes him, and tugs the undershirt loose. He takes his time pulling it up. It’s too good a job to rush, and he doesn’t care anymore if Ianto sees him looking. There’s a trail of dark hair leading into his slacks, a flat belly with just an edge of definition. Two diagonal lines leading down over the bones of his hips, and a center line Jack could eat off of. He’s muscled, but not in an obvious way. Jack likes it. It’s very Ianto, and he hikes the shirt up just a little more. Flat nipples, and then Ianto has to lift his arms and everything shifts, lines getting longer and straighter, his biceps flexing beautifully. The shirt ruffles his hair, and Ianto gives him a sort of dark look; but Jack sees the heat far beneath it. Ianto might not like his looking, but he’s flattered. Just a little.

He reaches for the shirt, mouth a thin line, and Jack shakes his head. Ianto actually goes still wondering if there’s yet more ink.

Just to see if he can get away with it he licks the undershirt. Brief taste of Ianto, warmth against his mouth and soft with the smell of laundry softener, and then he presses it to Ianto’s chest where the ink is a black splotch on his skin.

Ianto glares and snatches the shirt out of Jack’s hands. For just a moment their fingers tangle, and then he’s got the shirt and he’s bundling up his clothes and making for the office door.

“You can use my shower.” Jack taunts, just a little. “I’ll even scrub your back.”

Ianto hisses something at him in Welsh and storms out. There’s some whistling and catcalls from outside because Ianto didn’t pull the door shut or put anything on, and Jack decides he’s going to go enjoy the shower himself.


End file.
